We Dare Be Brave
by Wishing on Fireflies
Summary: "You're Annie and I'm Finnick, and it's like… it's like that's all I need to say. Like us, together, should speak for itself." AU. Finnick is a wealthy Capitol citizen who never looked beyond his own self-interests. Annie is a girl from District Four who not only teaches him to care, but inspires him to risk everything for a cause much bigger than themselves.
1. Prologue

**_xxxxx_**

**_We are weaned from our timidity_**  
**_In the flush of love's light_**  
**_we dare be brave_**  
**_And suddenly we see_**  
**_that love costs all we are_**  
**_and will ever be._**  
**_Yet it is only love_**  
**_which sets us free._**

**_From Touched By an Angel, by Maya Angelou_**

**_xxxxxx_**

It was a golden shaft of sunlight that woke him, filtering through a gap in the curtains at the break of dawn. He blinked blearily as his eyes adjusted to wakefulness, a smile stretching across his face when his gaze rested upon the girl curled against him. His arms unconsciously tightened around her, pulling her close as he buried his face in her soft curls. The gesture was intimate in a way that scared him shitless, but he didn't have the power to pull away. His attraction to the girl was magnetic and unnatural, and if he had trouble resisting it before, he had no doubt that doing so would be impossible now. He was under her complete control, and oh, it was more exhilarating then he ever could've imagined.

Exhilarating, but _so damned dangerous_. Of all the complications that could've occurred during his visit, Annie Cresta was one he never would've expected, and he knew deep down that what he felt for her had the potential to cause more difficulty than anything else possibly could have.

His trip to District Four was supposed to have been simple. The district's economic output had been significantly lower than its assigned quota. The idiots who managed the fishing industry gave weak excuses for the drop off, and the feeble minds on District Four's economic committee hadn't done anything to garner substantial improvement. Finnick was more a politician than an economist, on Snow's primary economic board because he could deal with people in a way that the other board members simply couldn't, so he'd been sent in to see if he couldn't handle the problem with political maneuvering instead of number crunching.

It should have been as easy as subtle threats and blackmail, possibly promises of leniency should a more delicate approach have been necessary. Lack of production was almost always caused by idiot workers who opposed the Capitol and didn't see why they should bother working for fish they couldn't keep. It was a common problem in District Four, which was just prosperous enough to allow its people the energy to fight back, but not to the extent where any of them were satisfied with things as they were.

He'd set aside a number of weeks in which he expected he would be able to stabilize the district's economic foundation and pick up on any inklings of rebellion that were behind the sudden absence of work ethic.

Annie Cresta had taken those expectations and turned them on their head. He never would've expected it when they first met, nor any of the dozen times he saw her after that. She'd crept up on him, working her way into his heart before he was aware he'd started holding her in any regard at all. In fact, she'd been _gutting fish _when they spoke for the first time, dressed in an old t-shirt and tattered jean shorts and chatting with the women around her as she moved about one of the stations along the docks. He wouldn't have looked twice if she hadn't waved in his direction—not at him, but at Erik Cresta, who'd been giving Finnick a tour of the area. The tall, dark-haired man was in charge of managing the bulk of the district's workers, and was therefore the main focus of Finnick's trip. He'd been stony-faced for much of the morning, brushing off casual questions or attempts at small talk with terse, one-word replies, but his features softened when he caught sight of the girl, a smile of such shining love overtaking them that Finnick felt compelled to look away.

"My daughter," he said to Finnick. "Annie. She helps with cleaning and packing the fish."

Without another word, he left Finnick behind and headed for the girl.

"Sorry to bother you," said Annie, after her father had stopped in front of her. "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be home late tonight. Mrs. Havisham has trouble staying on her feet now that she's so far along, so I offered to cook supper for her. Maybe take care of Jake for a couple hours afterwards."

Finnick stopped several paces back so that he could study her without drawing attention to himself. She was pretty enough for a girl from the districts. Even elbow-deep in fish guts, with her hair tossed back in a messy ponytail and the barest hint of sunburn blistering her freckle-dusted nose, there was something about her that he found strangely appealing. Her eyes especially were interesting, the same gray-green color as the sky before a storm, and framed with long, thick lashes that nearly brushed her cheeks when she blinked.

"Jake. He's her youngest, yeah?" asked Erik.

"For now. I can't imagine it'll be more than few days before there's another." Annie brushed her hands on her apron and wiped her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. "I hope it's a girl, for Mrs. Havisham's sake. She's already got her hands full with Jake and Anton_._"

Her father smiled playfully. "If you're around to work your influence, I can't imagine gender will make the child any easier to work with." Annie made a face and picked up something that looked like a fish's stomach, miming throwing it at him. Erik boomed a hearty laugh, eyes flashing with genuine humor for a moment before his expression darkened slightly. "I don't mind that you go to her place for dinner, but make sure you're home before the peacekeepers begin their watch." He glanced at Finnick. "I should be going. I was just giving Mister Odair a tour of the district. He's here from the Capitol on business."

Annie's eyes flashed to where he stood, and Finnick noted with some surprise that she didn't show any visible reaction to his appearance, instead quirking a brow and eyeing him with an almost clinical curiosity.

"Well, I guess you should get back to it," she said, after a moment. She smiled sweetly at Finnick, the expression completely guileless. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Mister Odair."

He offered her a smile of his own, although he imagined his was much less genuine.

"Thank you, Miss Cresta."

Erik led him away, and he all but forgot the girl for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn't until he'd arrived at Erik's home to meet him the next morning that he thought of her at all, and that was because she'd been the one to open the door with a bright smile, even offering him a cup of coffee while her father finished getting ready. He'd expected, perhaps somewhat arrogantly, blatant flirting or flustered awkwardness, but she'd shown no signs of either, instead treating him with curiosity more than anything. She sat across from him while he nursed his coffee and sipped at her own cup as she asked unexpectedly earnest questions about the Capitol. Where did he live? Did he really have more food than he could eat? Did _everyone _have a car? Did he work with President Snow?

He'd had to maintain caution, of course, but she was smart enough to stay away from anything he wouldn't have been able to answer. He found her reactions to his replies interesting as well, in the way her eyes sometimes widened or her lips occasionally pursed with disapproval. She didn't know how to hide her expressions, something that even the more foolish of Capitol citizens learned early on, and he rather enjoyed reading her emotions play out across her face. He was surprised to find that while her positive reactions were frequent, she rarely responded with so much as controlled censure, and never with the barely concealed disgust he'd seen when working with people from the districts before. He'd asked her about it as tactfully as he could, and Annie simply shrugged and said, "I'm not fond of the Capitol, but why should I take it out on you? It's not your fault you were born there."

The conversation was interesting enough that he purposely arrived at Erik's house early the next morning, hoping that he and Annie might talk over coffee again. He was actually _relieved _when she was the one who answered the door, smiling pleasantly and offering a friendly, "Good morning, Finnick," as though they were old friends.

He asked her questions this time, about what life was like in Four and what she did in her free time. She replied with talk of how much she enjoyed reading and boating, but how she loved swimming most of all.

"It's amazing," she'd said with sparkling eyes. "Almost like flying, except better. Do you swim?"

"There are pools in the Capitol. I've been once or twice."

She snorted disgustedly. "That doesn't count. It's not really swimming unless you're in an ocean, or a lake, at the very least."

"Yes, with dirt and sand everywhere. How lovely," said Finnick, his nose wrinkling just slightly.

Annie laughed, the sound vibrant and almost musical. "You're so _Capitol. _It's funny." Almost as an afterthought, she tacked on, "I ought to teach you to gut fish before you leave. I can already imagine the look on your face."

Erik had arrived then and eyed the two of them oddly—had looked at Finnick with nothing less than outright caution—but said nothing, and had merely told Finnick it was time they get going.

The next several weeks passed in something of a blur. Finnick didn't always have to meet Erik, but he arrived at his home earlier than necessary when he did. Annie began showing up outside their morning conversations as well, seemingly by coincidence at first, but she apparently grew tired of pretending to run into him, and before long, she barged into his life outright instead, showing up at his place one evening as though it were the most natural thing she could've done.

"I thought you might be feeling lonely," she said, a nervous smile on her face. "Can I come in?"

He hadn't had it in him to say no, and it became a tradition for her to come over and keep him company after that. Oftentimes, she simply sat with him while he went over paperwork, always with a book in her lap that she focused on until he finished working. At first, their time together consisted of nothing more than polite conversation. Then Annie started suggesting other ways to pass the time. Initially, they simply walked along the beaches, but she soon dragged him out to the cliffs by the sea, and they hiked the craggy rocks and explored the caves that bordered the ocean. Some days later, she woke him at the crack of dawn with the insistence that he _must _see the sunrise. She even forced him swimming eventually, and spent an entire morning critiquing his stroke while gliding through the water like a fantastical ocean creature who belonged more in fairytales than reality.

Seeing her soon became the high point of his day. He'd gather reports and look at numbers and check records that'd been taken both by the managers and the peacekeepers in charge of monitoring the dock workers, but the whole while his mind would be spinning around Annie Cresta. Most of the time he told himself that she was nothing more than a pretty distraction, but sometimes honesty took hold and he admitted that he truly valued her in a way he couldn't remember valuing anyone since his parents died. He didn't make friends, and while he had a reputation in the Capitol for sleeping with anything that moved, his escapades had a pattern—he screwed those he needed things from. He'd never been attached to any of them, was only attracted to a small few, and after the way he'd grown up, he hardly found enjoyment out of sleeping with even the handful who didn't irritate him outright.

Annie was different. He'd wondered briefly if all girls from the districts were like her, but dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him. She was special. Undoubtedly, undeniably special. While he was nothing more than masks and walls built around a mass of selfishness and immorality, she was open and sincere and _good. _Genuinely, deeply, impossibly good. So much so that sometimes, when she got too close, he would wonder if he'd burst to ash for daring to put himself in her presence.

It was worse because she didn't know how bad he really was, had no idea that he had a history ugly enough that most of the time he did everything he could to pretend it'd never happened, or that he'd slept with dozens of women and probably couldn't name half of them. Had no idea that he'd indirectly played a part in more deaths than he liked to think about, and that he couldn't close his eyes at night without seeing things that made him hate himself.

She didn't know that every piece of information he'd collected since he got to the district suggested that her father was likely fudging numbers and letting his men steal Capitol fish and work shorter hours and encouraging other managers to do the same. Wasn't aware that if he were to return to the Capitol and report his findings, her father would be punished severely, and it wouldn't be out of the question for Snow to do it through Annie herself.

Finnick sighed and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. He almost hated himself for this worse than anything else. For not stopping her feelings for him, for _encouraging them. _For letting her anywhere near someone like him. But everything had moved too quickly for him to stop. He'd only just registered that he felt something for her, and then she'd shown up to say good-bye, and he'd barely let her get a word in before he'd had to lean down and kiss her.

His heart had almost stopped when she'd pushed him away, but then she'd looked him in the eye and said, "That better have meant something."

He hadn't been able to lie. "Of course it did. Can't you feel it?" He'd taken a deep breath and plowed forward, "You're Annie and I'm Finnick, and it's like… it's like that's all I need to say. Like us, together, should speak for itself."

Annie had smiled in a way that made his heart swell, and she'd reached out and woven her fingers through his own. "It's funny, isn't it? How something so complicated feels ridiculously simple."

"Funny," he murmured.

Then she kissed him, more gently than he had her. Her lips had barely brushed his, the touch soft as butterfly wings. She'd stopped after a moment, had pulled back and looked at him, and said with a hint of nervousness, "This isn't the Capitol. You aren't expecting..."

He'd smiled softly; he hadn't been planning anything beyond kissing, not when he knew he'd be leaving the next day and doubted they'd ever see other again. He wouldn't squeeze in a quick screw before leaving. Annie was worth so much more than that.

"I'm not expecting anything, Annie."

She'd exhaled in relief. "Good." She twirled a strand of dark hair around her fingers, a nervous gesture of hers he'd memorized within the first few days of his visit. "But, um… I don't want to leave yet."

"Then stay. Help me finish packing, and then…" He trailed off, not wanting to push.

"Can I sleep here? With you?" Her cheeks went red. "I mean, _just_ sleep?"

Her eyes sparkled hopefully, her smile shy and innocent, and it had been one of those moments when he'd wondered that her goodness didn't make him combust.

"If you want."

"I want."

It had been the best night of his life. Annie in his arms, her head resting on his chest, her soft body so close to his. He hadn't expected to get any sleep at all, had been content to stare at her for the first few hours, taking in her every feature and wondering how he'd ever thought of her as merely pretty. He must've drifted off at some point and she'd fallen closer to him while they slept, but he was oddly content with things as they were. Just holding her was something so much bigger than he'd experienced with anyone before, and he almost thought that pushing for anything more would cheapen it. He was satisfied with things as they were, in a way he hadn't realized he knew how to be.

Annie shifted slightly, hair tickling his bare arms. Finnick's breath caught in his throat as her eyes fluttered open, stormy green peering at him with nothing less than perfect warmth.

He loved her. It wasn't possible to deny it when she looked at him like that, in a way that made him worry every inch of his being would burst at the seams from feeling too much at once. It scared him, made him feel weak and helpless and terrifyingly strong all at the same time, but dammit if he didn't love her. _  
_

"You're all rumply," said Annie, a bit of sleep clinging to her voice. She lifted a hand and rested it fondly on one of his cheeks, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. He had to bite back a moan, even as he laughed internally at his ridiculousness. That an innocent touch could affect him in such a way was absurd, but then again, so was the entire situation. He simply couldn't help how he reacted to Annie Cresta. "I like it," Annie went on, as though she weren't perfectly aware of how she was affecting him. "I don't know why you wear those silly suits and put all that junk in your hair. You're prettier like this."

"It's not fashionable," said Finnick.

Annie rolled her eyes. "Capitol fashions are stupid." She moved her hand lower, tracing his chin, and then resting her fingers against his pulse, cheekily cocking a brow when his heart skipped a beat at her touch.

He had the most ridiculous urge to blush. "I don't disagree," he admitted. "Unfortunately, it's-" His eyes rested on the clock next to his bed, and he cursed. "Shit, I leave in a half hour. I have to go get-"

She cut him off with a kiss, lips moving against his tentatively at first, but more forcefully as she gained confidence. Her hands tangled in his hair, and Finnick dismissed the knowledge that he'd have to leave soon, kissing her back with fervor, hands slipping under her shirt and resting on her lower back, something pathetically like a whimper falling from his lips as she squirmed for a better angle, nearly climbing on top of him in effort to get closer. Almost unthinkingly, he moved his hands to her sides, grabbing her by the waist and pretending he'd never have to let go.

God, it felt like she'd set every nerve of his body on fire, but he didn't care—would gladly burn if he could keep feeling like this. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Annie Cresta forever.

But getting what he wanted was something Finnick couldn't afford. He moaned piteously as he tore his lips from hers, separating himself from the girl he'd come to care for so strongly in such a short amount of time.

"I have to go," he repeated breathlessly, raking a hand through his hair, fidgeting slightly. He was flustered. Had no idea what to say. Hell, what could possibly be said? He was leaving, probably never coming back. They might not see each other again, but he loved her, and _dammit _he wished there were words to make everything okay.

"I know," she whispered. Her face was flushed, her hair mussed and lips swollen.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"This…"

"I know," she repeated.

He laughed humorously, because his only other choice would've been to cry. "Would it be better or worse if I told you I love you?"

Annie's eyes widened slightly, but she did smile. Smiled broadly, showing off perfect white teeth, making her eyes sparkle in a way that had his heart swelling almost painfully. "I don't know. Would it be better or worse if I told you that I love you too?"

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and tried not to sob. "Better, I think. It makes me happy. Even if I don't deserve it."

"You're not so bad a man as you think," said Annie. She pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. "And it makes me happy too. I'm sad also, but… more glad, I think. Because I'll have these memories now. It'd be worse if I didn't."

"I'm glad," he managed.

They kissed one more time, and then he had to leave, to go back to the Capitol where there weren't beaches or caves by the sea, or girls like Annie Cresta who saw him as something more than he ever could've imagined he could be.

…

**Author's Note: **

**Okay, I'm not exactly sure where this came from. I was browsing for Hunger Games stories to read, and there are about a million AU fics about Katniss and Peeta, and even some about Finnick and Katniss, but it seems like Finnick and Annie have few good stories that aren't a hundred percent cannon. So I decided to launch a comeback to fanfiction, in which Finnick is a Capitol politician. There isn't much on him and Annie falling in love initially; that's because I intend for this story to have a broader point. Don't worry. There will be angst and fluff among other things, but to me, it never seemed like the power of Finnick and Annie's relationship came from how they fell in love; not like Katniss and Peeta. The amazing thing about them was that they stayed in love, that despite Annie's madness and Finnick's circumstances, they still retained an almost shockingly pure, beautiful affection for one another. That's what I'm trying to capture here. **

**That's the important stuff. If you're not into Author's Notes, halt there, take in my pleas to please review (this is a different concept, and I haven't written for a while anyway, so I'm nervous to see how this goes), and skip the rest. **

**For anyone interested in exactly what Finnick's job is, and how it works: **

**I'm basing Panem's politics and economics strongly off the Soviet Union. Snow fills the leadership role, and Finnick works for a committee similar to what I assume Gosplan was like. Gosplan, or the Soviet Union's state planning committee, was the top level of the USSR's economic system. I don't know specifics. I'm not an expert on economics, but from what I gather, it was powerful, and in charge of smaller, more specialized groups, which in this story are the committees in charge of individual districts. I won't go into detail about that sort of thing, and what little I do know was gleaned from my brother's college economics book, but it ****_is _****somewhat important. Basically, I wanted Finnick in a position of political power in the Capitol, and while Finnick's primary influence comes from much less savory means than a job in economics, this still seemed the best bet. **

**Anyway, I'm done babbling now. I'll try to get the first real chapter posted quickly, but things will slow down after that; I only have three chapters written, ****_plus_**** I'm starting college in a couple weeks, and while the schedule for my first year is pretty easy, I'm still wary about how much time I'll have. Plus, I don't know how this will go over either way; if people think it's a stupid idea, I'm not sure I'll continue. Hence, my plea for feedback. **

_**Wishing on Fireflies**_

_**p.s. **_**If you're still here-Google the poem on top and read it in full. It captures planned themes for this story _perfectly_, and it's beautiful besides. Promise you won't regret it. **


	2. Whither?

**_xxxxx_**

**_Ah, when to the heart of man_**

**_ Was it ever less than a treason_**

**_To go with the drift of things,_**

**_ To yield with a grace to reason,_**

**_And bow and accept the end_**

**_ Of a love or a season?_**

**_From Reluctance, by Robert Frost_**

**_xxxxx_**

Finnick tried not to rake his hands through his hair as he waited to give his presentation to Panem's primary economic board, which, at this particular meeting, had expanded to include President Snow. Mussing up his hair was a habit he'd picked up in District Four, after he'd stopped styling it with gel (because Annie hadn't liked it) and realized that she thought it was cute. The habit, not the hair.

Although she'd said that she liked his hair as well.

Either way, it was a nervous habit, or at the very least a habit that made him look nervous, and looking the least bit like something was wrong would cause his carefully laid plans to go to hell.

President Snow—of course—was the last to arrive, two Peacekeepers trailing dutifully behind. Finnick had never liked the president, had found the man's false kindness to be utterly irritating, but he kept a pleasant smile on his face and greeted him in the same warm manner he, and the rest of the board members, always had. He'd gotten away with acting like a sarcastic ass to Snow in private more than once, but showing disrespect in public wasn't something that'd be tolerated. No matter how far Finnick's influence reached some things simply weren't acceptable, and besides, he had to stay on the president's good side at that point anyway.

And _shit_, but he couldn't remember it being so hot in these conference rooms. Would they notice if he was sweating more than normal? _Was _he sweating more than normal?

He shouldn't be. District Four was hot as hell, and he'd gotten used to the warmer climate while he was there. Of course, he hadn't worn ridiculously ornate suits in District Four, and Annie had distracted him from the heat, and how in the hell had he survived this long as a politician when he obviously turned into a moron whenever someone he cared about was involved in his business?

_Right_, he thought, lips twisting ironically. _I haven't cared about anyone since I've fallen into this line of work, so that's not anything I've had to worry about. _

He still couldn't believe he was doing this. Bullshitting Snow. His chances of success were ridiculously low, and if he were caught, not only would he be in deep shit, but the Crestas would _still _get in trouble.

This was why he tried not to love anyone. Love made things difficult. Messy.

_Painful. _

Finnick tapped his fingers on his binder as he waited for the opening formalities of the meeting to conclude. Roll call. Review of the schedule. Would anyone like to add anything to discuss? Then some moron was blabbering about District Twelve and a recent explosion in the mines, and while Finnick wouldn't have given a flying fuck before, he found himself thinking of what Annie would think. And Annie would think that it was stupid that there'd be explosions in the mines, when the Capitol had to have had technology to keep the miners safer than that.

Of course, Finnick had no idea how mining work or how to make it safer, but he did know that the Capitol never invested in anything that didn't directly increase a district's overall production, and that the money put _into _District Twelve wasn't anywhere near as much as the profits from the coal coming out of it.

But, Finnick supposed, the money really wouldn't increase the district's output, and why would the Capitol waste valuable resources protecting people from the districts when it wouldn't reap any monetary benefits?

He wondered at how the thought suddenly irritated him—Annie's influence, certainly—and at what kind of person he was that he hadn't thought twice about it before.

_A bad person_, he thought, but he corrected himself after a moment. Not bad, necessarily. Simply _weak. Selfish._ The Capitol wasn't as wealthy as people thought—a civilization built on sand, without any true foundation—and every bit of profit needed to be squeezed out of the districts to keep it afloat. Because of how much money went into maintaining internal security and the inefficiency behind the idea of dividing Panem into specialized districts, even the slightest of hitches could have a devastating impact. As powerful as the Capitol looked politically, it was impossibly fragile from a numbers standpoint, and Finnick had never thought of anything beyond keeping the system running smoothly. If that meant children died, and people like the ones Annie helped, like the ones she befriended, like Annie _herself _were starving or killed, then it was a worthy sacrifice.

So long as he maintained his position of power and cushy lifestyle, there was nothing wrong with turning a blind eye to suffering in the districts.

Except suddenly there was a voice in his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Annie, telling him that there _was _something wrong with it, that it was cruel and disgusting behavior, and that he needed to _do something about it. _

Finnick dismissed the voice. He had other things to worry about. Had _Annie _to worry about, and she was more important than the rest of Panem combined.

The man talking about District Twelve concluded his speech, and Finnick saw on the schedule that he was up next. He got to his feet and smiled his most charming smile as he turned on the holographic projector in the middle of the table. Using a remote, he flipped through the various images until he came up with a series of graphs and charts.

"As you know," he said, "I've just finished investigating production issues in District Four. Fortunately, I found that the problem isn't rebellion, or managers slacking off. I truly do believe that the decreased output was caused by the recent stormy weather that's plagued the area."

_What kind of idiot am I? Trying to trick these people with a lie like that? _

"As you can see," he went on, "the weather patterns detected throughout the last three months are drastically different than corresponding patterns recorded in the district for the past five years. Those I spoke to in the district said that warmer weather and changing wind currents reduced the number of fish that gather near the docks."

The board members murmured amongst themselves. Snow was looking at him like he was an idiot.

"_They _told you this?"

"I can assure you, none of them lied. The weather-"

"It wasn't your _job _to study the weather," said one of the suits.

"It was _relevant_," Finnick shot back.

"Is that really all you gathered in the weeks you were there?" asked another one.

"I collected some numbers," said Finnick, "but I didn't see any reason to look into them further. The fishermen's claims were legitimate, and-" They obviously didn't believe him. Finnick gritted his teeth in a visible show of frustration and snapped, "Oh, come off it. It makes sense, and I don't see why I would've needed to look at anything more closely. I was busy with other matters."

"Other… Ah, yes." Snow frowned at him. "I did receive report that you seemed to be getting rather… intimate with the locals."

_Of course you did. _

"Have you been to District Four, President Snow?" asked Finnick.

"I have."

"The women there, if you hadn't noticed, are _exquisite. _Forgive me for getting distracted. I had a legitimate solution, so I didn't see why I shouldn't accept things at face value and have a bit of fun instead of wasting my time with potentially pointless research. Quite honestly, my presence there was likely warning enough to keep them from pulling anymore bullshit anyway. _Let it go_."

Snow acted like he hadn't heard Finnick speak. "My people tell me you seemed especially close to Erik Cresta's daughter."

Finnick rolled his eyes. "She's the one who told me about the weather patterns. I wanted to see if I could get any other _secrets _out of her." He gave Snow a sheepish smile. "I didn't manage any important information, but she had other uses."

No one spoke for a long moment, and Finnick could feel the disgust behind every one of their stares. He knew none of these people liked him; he'd come across his job in a manner similar to how Snow had gained his presidency—blackmail and manipulation. Of course, Snow hadn't made nearly so fast an ascension, but he'd needed poison to do his job properly. Finnick had simply needed sex, and through it, he'd managed to collect dirty secrets on nearly every prominent figure in the Capitol. Including the president himself.

He'd also broken up a number of families and slept with at least a third of the board member's wives, but he hadn't seen those things as anything more than insignificant details at the time. He'd had a purpose.

His purpose seemed terribly shallow at the moment, thinking of how Annie would look at him if she knew exactly what he'd done to get where he was, but he couldn't change the past. Anyway, he had to be at least slightly grateful for his wealth of blackmail. While he could still get in trouble, these people, much as they would've loved an excuse to execute him, were much more likely to dismiss his carelessness.

Wouldn't want to piss off someone who could destroy their lives with a word or two, after all.

"Very well," said Snow, finally. He turned to another board member. "Honeycutt, I want you in Four by tomorrow. Finnick's efforts are appreciated, but I have a feeling something else is going on there, and I would like a second opinion."

_No. _He had to forcibly keep his mouth shut. Erik Cresta had been responsible for almost blatantly rebellious activity. If someone with any intelligence at all looked into the situation, he'd fall under immediate blame.

But he couldn't say a word. That'd only make things worse. Maybe Annie's father had grown some sense—maybe Finnick's visit _had _served as a warning, and he'd stopped behaving with such bald idiocy.

If not, Honeycutt would come back to the Capitol with information that would ruin their family, and perhaps result in the deaths of one or both of the Crestas.

Finnick kept his expression as controlled as possible, hiding the way his insides had shriveled with worry, and gave Snow his best 'Sorry I'm such a slut' face. He added a less friendly, 'If you hold this against me, I'll tell everyone each and every one of your dirty secrets' look just to keep the bastard from growing complacent.

Snow inclined his head, acknowledging Finnick's sentiments. "We will, of course, forget your indiscretion, Mister Odair. You did provide a reasonably believable explanation, and as you said—it is likely that your visit served to discourage any undesirable activity in the district. The situation in Four is simply sensitive enough that I wish to be absolutely sure of such things."

"I understand sir," said Finnick.

He reclaimed his seat and settled in to listen to a talk about the money going into peacekeeper services in District Eleven, doing his best to ignore the way his heart was constricting painfully.

He had an awful feeling that, despite how relatively smoothly as things had gone over, Annie was nowhere near out of trouble.

…

Finnick paid an inordinate amount of attention to his job over the course of the following week. He was subtle about it, of course, but while he normally dedicated his time to networking and politics, he kept an ear open for any reports Honeycutt sent in from Four. He knew he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, of course, but he wanted to _know_.

His efforts weren't necessary. When Honeycutt reported back before the week was up, he told all of them very clearly what he'd found, and what he intended to have done about it.

"Erik Cresta was all but actively rebelling," he said. "I say we kill him and his family." There wasn't a trace of emotion in his voice, no regret at all over ordering the deaths of two people, and Finnick wanted to throttle the bastard for it. "This type of behavior," he went on, "is unacceptable. We can't simply ensure that he ceases to flaunt the Capitol's authority, but must make a gesture significant enough to discourage others from doing the same. Is this seconded?"

"I'd like to propose an alternative. At the last meeting, the president mentioned he has a daughter?" The woman who'd spoken looked to Finnick for confirmation.

He smirked lasciviously. "Annie. _Beautiful _girl."

"How old is she?" _Please don't suggest what I think you're going to suggest._

Honeycutt's lips curved up into a smirk. "17, I believe. Not yet an adult."

_I'm going to be sick. _He stayed silent. There had to be an alternative option. Something else. Something that didn't involve them being killed outright, and something that didn't involve Annie going through what these people were implying she might have to go through.

"You're suggesting the Games," said one of the men.

"It makes the most sense," said the woman who'd spoken first. "Leaving the father alive has its benefits; his presence would be a continued reminder of what happens to those who disobey the Capitol. It's a more memorable warning, and quite honestly, I find the concept more entertaining than the alternative."

This was disgusting. How had Finnick had these sort of conversations before and not realized how disgusting they were?

"And the people of the district _will _recognize the reaping as a threat? It's no good if they think the girl being chosen is merely coincidence."

"The Capitol has sent two of its highest-ranking men to investigate a problem directly related to Erik Cresta. If anyone doesn't make the connection between that course of action and the girl's reaping, they are too stupid to be a threat in the first place," said the woman who'd suggested the Games.

"Point taken," said Honeycutt. "I approve. The Games will make a bigger impact than an execution. I motion to pass this proposal."

"Seconded," said the woman.

Finnick swallowed back a mouthful of bile and forced a gleeful smile. "Alright. We'll put it up to a vote." He paused nearly imperceptibly, wondering whether he was making the right choice, but he didn't have time to consider the matter too deeply. He only hoped he was doing the right thing. "I'm in favor of rigging the Reaping."

As it turned out, so was everyone else. When the vote was cast, the board moved to discuss other—supposedly more important—issues, not one of them showing any remorse over having sentenced an innocent girl to die.

Something inside of Finnick snapped, and suddenly everything about these people, everything about _himself _disgusted him.

_This needs to stop. _The thought ran unbidden through his head, with enough force that it almost bowled him over. _Annie… I need to help Annie. But this is more than Annie. This is about Panem, and the Capitol, and how horrible it all is. Throwing around lives like they mean nothing, punishing people for… for giving families more food, acting like helping others is a crime worthy of death. _

He let out a shaky breath. He'd been thinking along those lines, more hypothetically than anything, since he'd gotten back from District Four and started seeing the people in the districts as human beings instead of statistics. He'd entertained the notion that he was shallow for ignoring the hardships of others so he could maintain his lifestyle, but hadn't considered doing something about it, had focused on his worry for Annie instead.

Now, when Annie was being hurt as result of an obviously flawed, morally _corrupt _system, it was much harder to turn a blind eye. This happened all the time—worse things than this happened all the time—and… and it was _wrong. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Annie was going to be Reaped, would fight in the Hunger Games, possibly (probably), and that was enough to make him care where he hadn't before.

His previous conclusion ran through his head once more. _This needs to stop. _

He added another, slightly more hesitant thought. _And I can help. _

Finnick struggled a moment to determine how he could possibly make a difference. What did he mean by _this_ anyway? The Hunger Games?

No, there could be punishment without the Games, the Capitol could hurt people without the Games. Shit, he hadn't even thought twice about the Games, rarely bothered watching them, never bet on the winners, never shelled out sponsor money. When he did think about them, it was in disgust at the expense. Millions spent on something that held no true purpose beyond pissing off the districts. There were other forms of entertainment, cheaper forms. But a waste of money had been all he'd seen them as. Of course, obviously, he couldn't ignore them now—was already beginning to comprehend just how sick the entire concept was, now that Annie was involved.

They weren't the big issue, though. Twenty-four deaths a year was nothing compared to the rest of it. The totalitarian government and disproportionate punishments, and the efforts to keep the people in poverty so that the Capitol could throw money away on ridiculous endeavors—like reality shows where children—where his _Annie_—had to fight for their lives.

So that was the issue then. The government. The way Panem as a whole was run.

And to change that, he wouldn't just have to get rid of the Games. Hell, getting rid of Snow wouldn't help anything, not with the system already in place.

Changing things would mean getting rid of the system altogether—would mean bringing down the Capitol.

_You're not serious_, he told himself.

Finnick looked up from where he'd been staring at his binder. Looked at the men and women around him who thought they could play god—the people like him.

_It wouldn't be nearly so difficult as it sounds_, thought Finnick slowly. _I could already ruin every major politician in this city. That'd disrupt everything. Send people into chaos. _

Yeah. And then everything would collapse. He could destroy the Capitol, had that much power, but he didn't have the ability to do it in a way that would keep Panem afloat and wouldn't lead with the city in ruins. That would mean… gradual redistribution of power, the districts would have to be involved… it would mean war and rebellion, and he wasn't really considering this based on a whim, was he? He wasn't a hero, wasn't the type for this sort of thing.

But Annie… and other people like Annie, and he was panicking. That was it. Annie was going to be reaped, and he was panicking.

_Panicking, maybe. But that doesn't mean I'm not right. This sort of thing shouldn't happen. _

The system was wrong.

_What'll happen to me if I help it fall? _

He paused. _What'll happen to people like Annie if I don't? _

He thought about it for a moment, and didn't like what went through his head. It felt like everything around him was changing, and he hated it, but deep down, he had a feeling that maybe it was for the best. _I'll consider it. Think about what sort of difference I could make. _

In the meantime, he had more pressing matters to worry about.

He had to think of a way to keep Annie alive.

...

**Author's Note: **

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad people are liking the story so far. I am sorry that this chapter wasn't nearly as exciting, but it was necessary for plot purposes. Hopefully the next installment will be more interesting. Anyway, please keep telling me what you think, asking questions, whatever. I look forward to your comments. **


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